


Stars and Lights

by Alitheia



Category: Joker Game (Anime)
Genre: 1970s, Actor!Amari, Actor!Hatano, Actor!Kaminaga, Actor!Miyoshi, Alternate Universe - Theatre, Eventual Romance, M/M, Pianist!Tazaki, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-25
Updated: 2016-11-16
Packaged: 2018-07-26 12:02:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 14,753
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7573330
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alitheia/pseuds/Alitheia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Yet still, every time Miyoshi turned to him and their eyes met, the only thing Sakuma knew was the feeling of <em>falling</em>, <em>falling</em>, <em>falling</em>—and a bit dazzled, perhaps, because the stars were just too bright, while all he knew before were just those lamps with only artificial lights.</p><p>(In resplendent nights and brilliant cities, the stars and lights still went dim when compared to him.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Act I

**Author's Note:**

  * For [suki_pie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/suki_pie/gifts), [Alice_Klein](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alice_Klein/gifts).



> Joker Game © Yanagi Koji and I do not gain any profit from writing this fanfiction.
> 
> This was originally written in my language, but someone told me that I should translate it so here it is (´・ω・`) The Indonesian version is available [here](https://www.fanfiction.net/s/12066680/1/Stars-and-Lights) and the Chinese translation by Chrysopidae is [here](http://navigata.lofter.com/post/39e0b4_cfe0a25). Oh and since English is not my first language, if you found any error I would happily (also appreciatively) revise, so please don't hesitate to point that out, hope you enjoy!

The hall was silent.

Sakuma could almost hear the hitch of breaths—including his—and even though he practically wasn’t included in the audience, his eyes were like theirs, fixed at one spotlighted point on the stage.

Standing in the middle of the white circle, was Maki Katsuhiko—oh no, he wasn’t, now he was Hamlet—delivering his monologue, ever so movingly conveying to the world the misery and anxiety of the Danish prince.

In the community, Maki was the most celebrated actor, tickets for his plays were always sold out, and the flowers sent to the theater in his three shows were probably adequate to cover the whole road in front of the main gate of the imperial palace. In the local bars Sakuma drop by, or even in the queue lines at the busiest hours, he could hear people talking about the actor. Maki-san who played this role, Maki-san who played that role— _Maki, Maki, Maki_.

It was almost surfeiting when all people were talking about the man, but since Yuuki-san assigned him to help the lighting division and he ended up watching the actor himself, he grew to understand why everybody was enthralled. Sakuma didn’t know much about performing arts, but out of all actors whose plays he had seen, Maki was perfection. Every move, every phrase; he trod the wooden platform as though every inch of it was his world and recite his lines like every word of it was his own—no, those dialogues were indeed _his_. When he was on stage, there was no Maki, there was only Hamlet.

In the very beginning Sakuma wasn’t very excited to work in a theater, but now he restlessly waited for the evening to come, always looking forward to the time he could go to work and see Maki on stage—capturing ears with his voice, captivating eyes with his gestures, stealing hearts with his wails. Sakuma had seen him playing Hamlet so many times and yet he could never get tired, the more he took the role, the more Maki owned the character—they were one—Hamlet who did monologues, Maki who turned down Ophelia, Hamlet who saw the ghost, Maki who crossed swords with Laertes and drew his last breath under the spotlight. By the end of the play, applause and cries echoed; he did it again, he made all of them couldn’t see anything but himself again. 

Maki Katsuhiko was a star, who disappeared behind the closing curtains.

.*.

He was never able to get close to that man, except for the few times they passed each other in the corridors; Sakuma with lamps or a roll of cable, Maki with half a dozen bouquets of flowers on hand and a shower of praises.

Sometimes their eyes would meet. In another time the actor might as well didn’t even notice his presence, but Sakuma would still use all the chance he had to absorb all; the stylishly arranged hair, sharp, unreadable, round brown eyes and a tiny smile that kept questions arisen; everything about Maki always struck the most of his curiosity. But he could only see him up close in the briefest moment before the actor retreat to his room, beyond reach once again, while Sakuma could only slap himself mentally, trying to straighten his thoughts and put into mind the task he was doing.

That night Sakuma climbed up the stairs carrying a big box of spotlight in front of his chest, wasn’t sure whether he had brought the lamp filter that Odagiri has asked him to take—what was the color they wanted to change again, red? Blue? Or was it maroon brown, like the suit often worn by Maki when he came to the thea— _no, Sakuma, this is a theater, not a drag club_ , he rebuked himself, _why would they need a filter with that color anyway_.

He found the control room still laden with staffs, moving around like programed ants, cleaning up while saying loudly to each other, “ _Otsukaresamadeshita!_ ” It was how his day ever ended; audience gradually leaving the hall, staff tidying up equipment, lamps being switched off; Sakuma then went home with the last train or drop by any bar along the way, sometimes alone, other times with a co-worker.

“Oh, Sakuma.” Odagiri waved from one corner, he was rolling a cable back to the drum cord. Sakuma immediately approached his senior, set down the box and was about to help, but the other man stopped him with a hand gesture. “It’s alright, I can do it alone, actually, I need you to do something else,” he paused and Sakuma nodded, then his face went somewhat apologetic, “I’m sorry, but could you please check this one lamp before going home?”

Sakuma didn’t have a reason to refuse. His apartment wasn’t so far that it’s a must for him to take the train, and he didn't mind walking either, so he actually was never in a hurry to go home. He nodded once more with shown interest; Sakuma had only started working there for several months and until the foreseeable future, he did not intend to disappoint his superiors.

Odagiri asked him to go to Maki Katsuhiko’s room.

.*.

Hesitating over and over, he finally knocked on the door, then regretting it immediately because he might just did it a little too brash. Before he could excuse himself, though, the actor called from inside the room, “Come in.”

Sakuma opened the door as carefully as possible, trying his best not to make any sound. The dressing room was a little dim, and by reflex he glanced towards the lamps above and thought if they were the ones that have been broken. When he finally got into the room entirely, he saw the brown-haired man was sitting with his back to him, leaning on the chair facing the dresser, eyeing him through the reflection in the mirror. Even without the makeup applied to emphasize his stage role, Maki’s face owned not a single flaw.

“Good evening,” he waited until the actor stood and turned to face him before continuing, “Odagiri-san asked me to check a lamp.”

The man leaned his back to the wall, and Sakuma couldn’t ignore how his built was accentuated with the impeccable cut of his brown vest and fine white shirt, while the base of his neck exposed for the absence of a tie. He shoved both hands into his trousers’ pocket. “You don’t bring the new lamp.”

“Y-yes, I don’t?”

“Well, obviously you don’t. You also don’t bring any tools,” Maki said without a hint of emotion, tilting his head a bit while his eyes were staring at him thoroughly, “I thought you came here to fix the lamp.”

“I...,” he faltered for a moment, was not even the tiniest bit ready when asked (even though the tone of the actor wasn’t at all interrogative). He never felt that Maki paid any attention to him, and imagining having a conversation was out of the question. Now when the famed actor really spoke to him, he found himself troubled for answering. Maki’s sharpness was also not helping; Sakuma swallowed, realizing that he really did come without knowing which lamp was broken. In the end, nevertheless, as the proper man he was, Sakuma regained his composure. “I’ll see it first, before deciding which replacement lamp or tools I should bring.”

The actor kept staring at him for a few seconds, more than the limit of Sakuma’s comfort, but he then turned his head to the side. “That one.”

What Maki meant was one of the white bulbs on the side of the mirror on the dressing table. With just one look, Sakuma was able to determine which one was the problem, because Maki left them switched on and one of the light bulbs were dead. He walked towards the table without a word, switched off the lamps and touched the base of the dead bulb carefully, turning it outwards. His forehead furrowed when he realized immediately that the bulb wasn’t put on properly before, so he reversed the motion and returned it into the socket. He turned the switch again, now all of the lamps were on.

“Maki-san?”

“Hmm?”

“There was actually nothing wrong with the lamp,” Sakuma’s head turned to see the man who was still leaning against the wall, “it was only a bit loose.”

“I know.”

“Huh?” Now the rest of his body followed, facing the actor with a look of confusion. “Then why—”

Maki Katsuhiko’s eyes met his, and for the first time since he entered the room, he showed him a smile. “Why, of course, I need a reason for them to send Sakuma-san here, don’t I?”


	2. Act II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> His lips formed a smile. “Please stop calling me Maki because my real name is Miyoshi.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Joker Game © Yanagi Koji and I do not gain any profit from writing this fanfiction.
> 
> The original was (considerably) fine but I messed up everything when I translated this, lol, I hope it still came off as decent, or at least I didn't make that many grammatical mistakes X'D

“Why, of course, I need a reason for them to send Sakuma-san here, don’t I?”

“Huh?” Sakuma closed his mouth, opened it again when his jaw fell at the loss of words, then he closed it once more. Out of all the thoughts he might’ve had, that one thing never got inside his prediction scoop. Hence, rather than to stutter while answering, he preferred to hold his tongue. Maki must’ve taken it as amusing, or perhaps it even annoyed him a bit, for he straightened his back to that, with a smile and something that came off too elegant to be a snort.

Sakuma’s eyes trailed Maki as he walked to the dressing table to turn off the lamps. When the light source of the room now only came in from the window, somehow he felt something akin to a feeling of helplessness wrapping itself around his ankles. “Maki-san knows my name?”

“I did call you Sakuma-san just now,” the actor replied with a hint of disinterest, “unless I mistook your name.”

“No, you got it right,” he answered,” but how…?”

“Sakuma-san,” Maki said, “I care enough to know all staff who partake in the plays I’m in.”

“But—”

“There are a lot of people? That’s true,” he interrupted, eyes glancing at Sakuma before taking his suit jacket off the rack and put it on in one swift movement, “it’s not like Sakuma-san is new here, right? How many plays—that I have a role in—which lights have you taken care of?”

Sakuma kept silent once more. When he thought about it again, not long after starting to work in the theater, he was assigned to help the lighting division, particularly in the plays that Maki Katsuhiko was in. The actor himself was indeed hectic; at that theater solely Sakuma had already lost count on how many dramas he had played in. But it’s not like Sakuma could say that he _took care_ of anything, since the one in charge of the lights was Odagiri under the director, Fukumoto; he was less a staff than one would be called an errand boy.

What he didn’t understand was why Maki called him—hopefully it wasn’t to complain about the lightings or anything, because in the play that night, Sakuma recalled his hand trembled once or twice when moving the spotlight to follow the movement of the actors. He already apologized repeatedly to Odagiri and Fukumoto, even though none of them reprimanded him for the error.  He was admittedly curious about what Maki had to say—but it’s better to play it safe, Sakuma knew better to excuse himself quickly than be subjected to the tantrums of a perfectionist at this hour. “ _Otsukaresama desu_.” He bowed slightly, intending to ask for his leave and head home.

“ _Otsukaresamadeshita_.” Maki nodded, his eyes were appraising and Sakuma could almost see calculations flashing in the irises, before giving him a thin smile. “Is Sakuma-san in a hurry to go home?”

“No,” he answered instantly, and that glued his feet to the floor. Any assumption that Maki was someone who could assess the situation well had proven to be true, and he was sure that the man deliberately asked him so to make Sakuma know that he wasn’t allowed to go, though the question itself was in a caring tone. The hapless feeling swiftly rose to his stomach; acquiescent yet would still prefer the lead actor took out his anger on him than letting Odagiri barked at for something that was actually Sakuma’s fault.

“Actually, if Sakuma-san doesn’t mind, I have a favor to ask.”

“Ah?” So he wasn’t called to get yelled at? He almost let out a relieved sigh. “Is there anything that I could help you with, Maki-san?”

“There are two things, actually.”

“With pleasure.”

“First of all,” Maki examined his own reflection on the tall mirror attached to the wall, before putting on a hat in a way that more than half of his face was hidden, “my chauffeur is off sick, while I’m not in the mood for gab, but Sakuma-san knows it well how some of the audience sometimes can be… persistent, in showing their appreciation.”

Sakuma caught on immediately. The actor’s fans often not satisfied just by sending him flowers, so it wasn’t a rare sight to have a number of people still loitering inside and around the theater after the show had already over. They were of course waiting for a chance to greet the main lead; just like Sakuma who offered to fetch all kinds of things and even help other divisions, in a faint hope he would meet Maki on the way. Averting his gaze and feeling a little embarrassed when he remembered his own intention, his chest swell with delight, and maybe a bit flattered, for Maki had called _him_ for help. Out of all people who could do the same job, he specifically asked for _Sakuma_. (Probably it was just because his build was suitable for a hiding shield, but it’s alright, he got nothing to complain about.)

“Understood, Maki-san, I’ll do my best to escort you outside.”

“Do you have belongings that you need to take first? Like a bag or something.”

“Nothing.”

“Perfect.” Maki grabbed his coat and walked quickly to the door. Sakuma was almost late to catch up, but he still managed to reach the door knob and opened it for both of them. The actor smartened the collar of his shirt and peeked to the sides before he walked through the corridor, soundlessly taking a turn to the part of the theater Sakuma recognized was heading for the back exit, the one that he and other staff usually used.

Maki was walking in front of him, without lowering his pace, without waiting for him; silent and nimble like a cat. Not even once he turned his head back.

Sakuma followed a few steps behind, quite surprised by the sudden change in the actor’s gait. The Maki he normally saw in the those corridors was a flamboyant actor, with the wealthiest people on both sides, flower bouquets in hands, along with the most delicate smile and eyes that almost looked playful. He never walked fast, Maki was always the center of conversation when he ambled, attracting everyone’s attention and making everybody laugh.

“Maki-san?” Sakuma chased, almost mouthing _wait_ , but he held back right before the word came out. “How about the second one?”

He was sure that he didn’t mishear, because Maki clearly said that he needed Sakuma to help him with two things.

“About that.” Only at that moment Maki halted, a little too abrupt, but he stepped to the side slightly so Sakuma wouldn’t bump into him. The man faced him, lifting his hat until Sakuma could see that his brown eyes were gleaming in something that seemed to be amusement. His lips formed a smile. “Please stop calling me Maki because my real name is Miyoshi.”

.*.

A gust of chilly wind stung his cheeks when they stepped outside, that Sakuma was glad he had been able to take his coat and scarf hung on the coat rack in the pantry near the back door. As expected, some were waiting for them outside—perhaps they had been journalists, or even aspiring actors who wanted advice on how to gain recognition and obtain bigger roles. Sakuma was more cautious of the people who waited at the back door rather the ones who stayed in the lobby or the front, at least he knew they were really just waiting, while this bunch looked like they were up to some kind of an ambush.

Sakuma had already familiar with how the actor would take his time to socialize, or leave a bit faster than usual in his slick black car, driven by his private chauffeur. Since that night the driver wasn’t there, Sakuma assumed that his job included finding the actor a taxi, or any other way so he could go home. He did know by looking like a security staff he could hold the fans at bay, while the actor only put his sweetest, apologetic smile on, sounding ever so regretfully when he told them that he was in a hurry. Oh, of course Sakuma knew, that no matter what, the actor wouldn’t want to give an unpleasant impression.

Both of them managed to leave the theater without a ruckus. He asked if the actor would like him to call a taxi, but instead of answering he inquired where Sakuma lived and turned out they were heading for the same direction. He said that he wouldn’t mind walking home from time to time

At that time Maki—no, he just said that his name was Miyoshi; Maki Katsuhiko was just a stage name—slowed down so now they were walking side by side. Honestly Sakuma wasn’t all that surprised, many actors and authors were using a pseudonym for public, and thus Maki’s case was not uncommon. What actually surprised him, was rather how the name _Miyoshi_ fitted the man instantly. Sakuma had never heard of it before but he could somehow see it— _Miyoshi, Miyoshi;_ the Miyoshi who liked to walk quickly and smiled like he was keeping a secret. Sakuma wanted to say his name, trying out how it would taste on his tongue.

“What a cold night.”

It was a casual remark; everybody said it, especially if they ran out of things to talk about or just wanted to break the silence. Miyoshi tilted his head upwards, as if wondering if the rain would fall, while Sakuma only grew restless. He wasn’t sure whether Miyoshi said it out of politeness, or if he wanted something else. Perhaps he was hinting for Sakuma to do something? Looking at the actor’s bare neck, should Sakuma offered his scarf or that kind of thing? But maybe he was reading into it too far, it could’ve been just a mere commentary on the temperature, and what if his attempt to show concern ended up as offending?

Miyoshi glanced at him, and because he was staring at the man the whole time, their eyes met. Naturally, he threw his gaze to the pavement under their shoes, before turning it again to the street lamps glowing in yellow across the road.

“I’m a bit hungry,” Miyoshi said suddenly and this time had no correlation to the weather at all, “do you like _okonomiyaki_ , Sakuma-san?”

_I do_ , he nodded. Sakuma actually preferred Japanese food—or any dish that sounded Japanese, on that matter, and he could never really get the current taste for anything and everything overseas. But he would never say it in front of Miyoshi, especially not when all the plays he had taken a role in were also Western.

“Care to keep me company?” The man didn’t wait for an answer, because his feet was already moving faster, turning into a street laden with restaurants. Miyoshi’s movement was as aplomb as the Maki he knew. On stage, that confidence washed off completely and replaced with any personality of the character he was playing. Sakuma knew he was a remarkable actor, and he was always deeply impressed by how the man could handle his facial expression so well when he was acting, then erasing—or manipulating?—any trace of emotion when he spoke outside the script to the point that nobody could ever guess what he was really thinking. These were the kinds of people who were the most terrifying, Sakuma thought, they could as well consider you disgusting but able to show a smile while being amiable to you.

They reached a small crossroad, Miyoshi traversed the crowds coming from the opposite direction, in a way so skillfully and sprightly that not even their shoulders brushed in the slightest. Sakuma could see that the man knew the area, as he led the way in clear assurance, until the two made it in front of a traditional-styled building. There were also two restaurants inside, one that was aligned with the road and one that was built under, with a signpost vivid in green near the stairs going downwards. Close to it Sakuma saw okonomiyaki on the menu board, so he knew that the restaurant alluded to was the one below. Miyoshi took another glance at him, as though asking for approval, which was a bit too late since they had arrived anyway. Sakuma shrugged. “There’s also nothing wrong with eating outside from time to time.”

The man flashed him a smile before climbing down the stairs. Both of them found a sliding door below, opened from the inside with a loud _welcome!_ and a waitress clad in green and black uniform escorted them to the table. Sakuma and Miyoshi were given a table for four people at one corner of the room, close to the steaming kitchen where the cooks were preparing orders and waiters coming in and out with trays on their hands. There was a thin smoke coming out of the rectangular window of the kitchen, it smelled delicious and the place they were sitting at felt slightly hotter than other parts of the restaurant, but Miyoshi didn’t seem to mind, and so did Sakuma.

The menu was handed, Sakuma tried to focus on the list of the food and acted like he didn’t realize Miyoshi put his own menu sheet down and stared at him. There were only two choices available; okonomiyaki or soba, each has different kinds of variations and topping—everything looked tasty, and Sakuma honestly didn’t really cared much about what he would order _because couldn’t he just order Miyoshi—_

He cleared throat. “Miyoshi-san seemed to be very familiar with the restaurant.”

“Not all that familiar, actually,” the man rested his chin on the back of one hand, while his other hand flipping the menu nonchalantly, “and please, if you would, just call me Miyoshi.”

“Then please address me without honorifics too.”

“I’m calling you Sakuma-san,” Miyoshi smiled softly, “because you’re my senior in age.”

Sakuma wasn’t sure if that was intended to still be a form of petty politeness or just another way to say that he looked old—and he was sure that their age gap wasn’t that wide, but he chose to brush it off and changed the topic. “Have you decided on something?”

“I’ll take okonomiyaki, sausage and cheese topping. Sakuma-san?”

“Not sure yet, got any recommendation?”

“The last time I came here, I ordered this one,” Miyoshi pointed one menu that has a recommendation stamp by the restaurant on the left of its name, “perhaps that would do, if Sakuma-san likes _chikuwa_ and _konjac_.”

It was considerably a topping more normal to okonomiyaki than sausage and cheese, Sakuma thought. “Alright, I’ll try that one. What about the drink?”

“This restaurant _matcha_ supply is from Kyoto,” Miyoshi said, “one of the best. I always get myself a glass.”

“Then make that two.”

Anything that happened after seemed like a drama that was being played too fast. Both of them were the main actors, while everybody else in the restaurant was the extra, with conversations buzzing in the distance like swarms of bees. Their dinner came half-cooked, placed on the stove in the middle of the table. Even as they added sauce, waiting for it to fully cooked was too quick, Sakuma felt, because before he knew it they had already finished half of the meal, without really knowing what they were talking about. Miyoshi ate with exceptional manner, his hands cutting precisely and his chewing made no sound like the way Westerners did. He observed how the actor divided his okonomiyaki into tiny pieces before moving it into his small plate, one by one, bringing them into his mouth with the tip of chopsticks without dropping even a single bite of sausage or cheese.

Clinking the ice cubes in his matcha glass slightly, Sakuma wanted to know why Miyoshi asked him—who was a nobody—to grab a dinner together. He didn’t intend to think badly of other people’s courtesy, but being cautious was his second nature and his mind kept questioning. Could be that the actor wanted him to pass complaints to the director? Perhaps he was waiting for Sakuma to ask first? He was probably being too careful, for none of those questions managed to find its way out of his mouth. Maybe Sakuma was thinking too much because this was Maki Katsuhiko— _Miyoshi_ —someone who was as elusive as he was unpredictable.

Among all of the things that he couldn’t fathom, Miyoshi was always smiling, engaging him in conversations and asking all sorts of thing with an interest that looked… genuine—Sakuma wasn’t sure; Miyoshi was a great actor and he could put on whatever face he wanted. They did that for a living. He never wanted to hope much.

Then in almost an instant, Miyoshi’s eyes leered at his watch and announced that it was already his time to leave. They split the bill at the cashier, went back to the street and separated before the stairs. Miyoshi turned around, leaving Sakuma watching his silhouette waned as he walked away without looking back.

_He just needed a company for dinner_ , Sakuma concluded. Tying his scarf, he reached for a pack of cigarette in his pocket and strode through spring night.


	3. Act III

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sakuma was sure it _wasn't_ jealousy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Joker Game © Yanagi Koji and I do not gain any profit from writing this fanfiction.

Later did he know, that Miyoshi used the days when the theater was closed and practiced his parts on the stage. He didn’t ask for a partner, he didn’t ask for an audience; he only wanted to ensure that his performance would be flawless in rehearsals and the real show. _But for what?_ Sakuma had wondered at first. As an actor, Maki Katsuhiko was beyond perfect; he never forgot his dialogue, never moved to the wrong side and never mistook his stage direction. Why did he try so hard when he was already that good?

When he told the actor the same thing, Miyoshi only smiled at him. “Sakuma-san,” his tone was pleasant, “there’s a reason why there are good actors, and then _best_ actors.”

There must also be reasons why everybody was spellbound by Maki Katsuhiko, or why he became director Fukumoto’s and the theater head, Yuuki-san’s favorite actor. Sakuma felt quite guilty, considering that before, he thought that actors and actresses were just spoiled creatures in constant need for attention, but it turned out that the hours Miyoshi spent for work even surpassed that of his own.

If on that one night Miyoshi needed someone to accompany him while having dinner, now he needed someone to take care of the spotlight. It was an extra work, but Sakuma didn’t mind, all the more because his job was essentially simple and easy, he felt a sense of not wanting to lose. When the theater was empty in the afternoon, they entered through the back door, switched one big spotlight on and the actor climbed onto the stage, once again becoming Hamlet or Macbeth or Romeo—or whoever he was playing; there was no Maki, and there was no Miyoshi.

When his monologue finished, he moved to the audience seat, waited for Sakuma to go down from the control room and asked, “How was it, Sakuma-san?”

“I’m not sure if I’m the right person to be required an opinion,” Sakuma said, “but it was perfect, as always.”

Miyoshi replied him with a hum, tilted head to one side and rested his chin on the back of his hand, closing his eyes. _I’m imagining it from the audience’s point of view_ , he said.

“Usually it’s Odagiri who would help me with this,” Miyoshi told him, on the umpteenth day Sakuma accompanied him in the theater, “but even now Fukumoto is outstandingly busy, so I deemed Odagiri deserves some time off work too.”

Sakuma wasn’t sure why Miyoshi needed to mention about the director, but he came to a realization that his role was just that of a replacement.

.*.

“So lively even in the morning, aren’t you, Sakuma-san?”

Sakuma of course recognized the voice, but he still didn’t expect to see Miyoshi at all, standing right in front of him when he lifted his head. “Miyoshi?”

A bottle of mineral water was handed to him, and the man only stared, before switching his gaze to the smile on the actor’s face.

“Not thirsty?”

Sakuma straightened his back, wiping off sweat, thinking he must have been lacking of water because now he felt wobbly (or he was just surprised, a little _too_ surprised). Like every other normal mornings, three times a week, he put on his running shoes and went outside for a jog. It was on weekends before, but since he worked in the theater, he would go on any other free days. He always go by himself and it was never a problem—not that his neighbors were of the same age or keen about keeping their shape anyway—so he jogged along the canal, passing city parks and circling his apartment area, all alone.

Now he wasn’t. Miyoshi was standing before him, with a scarf tied loosely and a grey sweater on, while one hand was buried inside the pocket of his navy blue coat. There were dark traces, tantamount to crescent moons under both of his eyes, somewhat not salient under the morning sun, though the corners of his lips were still curving upwards. He shoved the water bottle to Sakuma’s chest, who was still bewildered but finally accepted it with murmured thanks.

“What are you doing here?”

“What does it look like?”

“Like you missed the last train and loitered around until morning.”

Miyoshi lifted an eyebrow as if saying, _Seriously, Sakuma-san?_ then he stifled a chuckle and walked to the vending machine near the park entrance. Sakuma followed him almost without thinking, opening the cap of his bottle. With the hand that was in his coat pocket, Miyoshi took out two coins and inserted them into the slot in the machine. The buttons lit up, he chose one that glowed in red and a can of warm coffee fell into the metal bracket with a sharp sound. When he bent over to pick up his drink, Sakuma's eyes caught the tip of rolled script paper inside pocket.

“Wait,” Sakuma said, almost moving his hand to stop Miyoshi as well, “you’re drinking coffee this early in the morning?”

“Not something uncommon, is it?” He again lifted an eyebrow, but not with a laugh this time. “What do you drink in the morning, Sakuma-san, warm milk?”

“ _Coffee_ ,” Sakuma answered quickly, “but not before breakfast.”

“Is that so?”

“You shouldn’t fill an empty stomach with coffee.”

“Hmm.”

They stared at each other. Sakuma didn’t know for how long, but the two of them kept standing still until he thought Miyoshi would start to tap his foot impatiently. But the man only lowered his coffee as a sign that he decided not to drink it, or was waiting for him to speak. On his face there was no hint of anger or annoyance, just an expression void of any emotion. Sakuma was the type of person who was comfortable with the usual silence, but this time he wanted to scream and get as far as possible. Was it already too late for him to continue his morning jog now…?

“You really were outside the whole night, weren’t you?” Sakuma asked.

Miyoshi didn’t reply, both of them knew he didn’t have any obligation to, but right now he would really appreciate even the most simple of response like a nod or a shake of the head.

He exhaled. “Breakfast?”

“What is it with breakfast?”

Sakuma smiled while holding his annoyance, and concluded that Miyoshi was one of those people who really liked to answer a question with another question. “Well, you hungry? Because I think I’m going for a second breakfast.”

“Is this an invitation?” The actor asked once more, his smiled returned.

He averted his gaze. “There’s a really good bakery around here.” Sakuma then walked fast, maybe even half running. By his side with an amused face, Miyoshi followed.

.*.

His name was Izawa Kazuo. Dashing, charismatic, with excellent English. He gave off the impression of a happy-go-lucky man, but was actually very serious and hardworking. Most popular among girls and young women, whom he had not always reciprocate, but willing to flock around him like bees to nectar. If seen in terms of competition, he might be Maki Katsuhiko’s biggest rival; everyone knew that the lead role was their trophy.

As it was usual among actors and other public figures, Sakuma had almost expected Miyoshi and Izawa to sneer at each other or at least threw what would seem to be polite remarks over their heated rivalry. He didn’t know Izawa, and even though Miyoshi was probably a bit too elegant to act likewise, such conflicts were so common; it wasn’t a secret that actors were often not fond of each other, so he thought he wouldn’t be surprised if it was also the case.

Only, it wasn’t. Both were close friends— _a little too intimate_ , even, to the point that Izawa could drape an arm over Miyoshi’s shoulder, who didn’t look the tiniest bit bothered when the taller leaned to him and whispered something to his ear, prompting a laugh from something only known by the two. There was a genuine glint of amusement in Miyoshi’s eyes, and Sakuma just couldn’t pass that. Oh, of course not, of course he didn’t hate their propinquity, instead he was glad, since it meant that Miyoshi didn’t have anyone who could be his enemy or the like; Sakuma wasn’t jealous or anything, he swore.

Not even when he walked down the corridor of actor rooms one night after a rehearsal, and Maki Katsuhiko’s door opened right when he was just a few steps away, coincided with Izawa who walked out of it, with a wide smile plastered on his offensively handsome face. Izawa didn’t notice him immediately, but another man who was beside him—Shimano Ryousuke, the actor he knew always played Horatio in Miyoshi’s Hamlet, just like how Izawa always played Laertes—turned his head and looked straight at Sakuma.

Cheerfully, Izawa said to someone who was inside the room, “Then see you on Friday night!”

A light chuckle and a reply, “Wear your best suit, Kaminaga.” It was Miyoshi’s voice.

Then the door closed, and Sakuma tried as hard as he could to keep his gait normal. When they passed each other, Shimano smiled at him and Izawa—or whose real name was probably Kaminaga, because Miyoshi had just called him _that_ _way_ —raised his hat, “ _Otsukaresama_.”

He responded with a slight bow and the same phrase. Sakuma’s forehead furrowed when he turned at the end of the corridor, why would anyone like Izawa Kazuo must’ve been someone who was so amiable and polite? Sakuma almost regarded life as unfair for he knew he might never be able to hate Kaminaga.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’ve been using the phrase _otsukaresama_ / _otsukaresamadeshita_ since chapter 1 but now when I think about it, I haven’t really explained it properly, lol. For those who don’t know, it’s a polite phrase meaning something like “Thank you for your hard work” and usually said at the end of the day/event to your co-workers/friends. In some cases it could also mean as a greeting, or to replace goodbyes when you go home earlier than the others.
> 
> Hope you enjoy reading so far, all kudos and comments are very appreciated, and sorry for my English. 8’)


	4. Act IV

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “What are you doing, Miyoshi?”
> 
> Miyoshi gazed at him, eyes wide and twinkling, lovelier than any stars and lights that Sakuma had ever seen, not bothering to hide his excitement as he replied, “Showing Sakuma-san the best part of a stage play.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Joker Game © Yanagi Koji and I do not gain any profit from writing this fanfiction.

“ _The rest is silence_.”[1]

Sakuma watched Miyoshi—as Hamlet—went limp on Horatio’s lap, breathing out his last line and died with his eyes opened. He didn’t know how to explain it, but every time he saw the scene, it felt like there was something inside his chest being squeezed. It took a constant reminder from his common sense that it was just a play, and Sakuma must resist the urge to run from his post only to check if Miyoshi was alright.

" _Now cracks a noble heart. Good night sweet prince,_ " Horatio, played by Shimano Ryousuke, whispered to his ear, " _and flights of angels sing thee to thy rest_ _!_ "

Fortinbras then entered the stage, last dialogue, fifth act ended. The curtains went down; the staff and invited audience roared the hall with applause. The evening rehearsal was done, director Fukumoto thank them all for their hard work, and announced through his microphone that they would have a break for the whole weekend. The show would be on next Saturday night, again with Hamlet, again with almost identical lineups with the one Sakuma saw when he first started to work in the theater.

When Sakuma went down from the control room to sort out cables for the spotlights stood near the entrance, the actor who played Laertes—Izawa Kazuo, _alias_ Kaminaga, emerged from the side door. He walked straight to a woman clad in a green spring dress in the middle row, with whom Sakuma assumed was her daughter, looking refined in a soft pink skirt, standing docilely beside her. Sakuma was pretty sure he had seen the woman on TV, a wife of a famous politician or someone similar, who frequently attended charity events. Miyoshi then joined in, with his renowned cordial smile that he could make out even from the distance.

“A perfect match,” a man said from the back row, “aren’t they?”

If it even startled him, Sakuma didn’t show it, instead he turned his head around to find the source of the voice—a voice that he _recognized_ —until his eyes stumbled upon a particular brown hair protruding from one of the seats on the second last row. He climbed down the stairs until he was aligned with the said chair. “Shimano-san?”

Shimano Ryousuke, with his hair still neatly combed from his role as Horatio, placed a water bottle on his lap before taking his arms to the back of his head and leaned in, his eyes glancing. “Sakuma-san, isn’t it?”

Another actor who knew his name even though they had never talked before; Sakuma only gave a slight nod, wasn’t sure of how to respond properly.

“Don’t look at me like that, I knew it from Maki since he mentioned about you, it’s not like I was stalking or anything.” Shimano waved a hand casually before returning it to his skull. The actor then gestured with his chin, to the four people who now started laughing. “What do you think?”

“Izawa-san and the girl, or Maki-san?” Sakuma asked, “this is still about being a perfect match, right?”

“It is, but you got the wrong people,” Shimano said, “who I meant were Izawa and Maki.”

“Pardon?”

Shimano glanced at him once more; his eyes were round, brown and unreadable—just like Miyoshi’s, but there was something in his gaze that distinguished the two; while the latter often looked intent, Shimano on the other hand always showed a somewhat dangerous bored stare, giving an impression that he wasn’t very interested while at the same time was considering which of Sakuma’s bone would be the most amusing if it was to be broken. He found himself grew defensive, even as a smile tugged the corner of the actor’s lips.

“Izawa, Maki and I had been in the same acting school overseas, they were in the same class, I was in another. There were only three Japanese, so it was natural that we became friends,” he said, “but even before I was in the circle, they were already chummy, probably given by their character.”

“I don’t think I quite get what Shimano-san means….”

“Look at that,” Shimano slouched his arms over the seat in front, resting his chin on them, “dandy and garrulous. I’m not interested in chitchat—that’s why I’m here.”

Sakuma had learned enough through experience, that sometimes there were just some things that he didn’t need to answer, or a mere nod would serve a better response. Once in a while, being silent was far simpler and he usually didn’t have to deal with the consequences of his words afterwards, because they were simply nonexistent. But this time he couldn’t stay passive, Sakuma asked something that only after the sentence had left his mouth he realized, it was probably exactly like Shimano had wanted. “Why is Shimano-san telling me this?”

“My story too boring, Sakuma-san?”

“I’m sorry, that’s not what I meant—”

“I was just thinking,” he interrupted, stretching his arms and crackled his fingers, “how Izawa is courteous because he’s genuinely sociable, while Maki does the same thing because he often has his own agenda.” Before Sakuma could think of any answer, the actor stood and headed for the exit. He stopped briefly, turning his head until half of his face was visible. “Just saying.”

Until he disappeared behind the doors, Sakuma still hadn’t got the chance to ask what he meant.

.*.

"Sakuma-san."

It was Miyoshi calling. Sakuma wasn’t sure where it came from, especially since the backstage was in complete darkness and he couldn’t see anything except for the walking signs glowing on the floor and the fluorescents bracelets the staff wore around their wrists.

"Sakuma-san, Sakuma-san!" Now it had turned into a more insisting whisper. Sakuma preferred to act like he didn’t hear any of it, because it had always been easier that way, and he was busy after all. Or maybe he was just not ready to face Miyoshi, not after he knew the actor spent the weekend with his supposed _best friend_ , Kaminaga, all while wearing the best suits and probably going to some high-end places that were only suitable for actors. Maybe it was how reality knocked some senses into him, that the worlds between an actor and a mere technical staff were indeed different, and it wasn’t his place to dream too high.

“My, my, the darkness should make it difficult to see, not to hear,” now the voice was exactly at the side of his ear, still in a whisper, followed by a soft snort of laugh that somehow still came out gracefully; he could feel Miyoshi’s breath brushing his cheeks, “or perhaps Sakuma-san was only pretending not to hear?”

“Miyoshi,” Sakuma finally acknowledged, “I’m _busy_.” To emphasize, he lifted up the box that was left near his feet—earlier it contained a set of spotlight to be placed behind a stage prop, to add the thrill when the late king’s ghost entered the scene—but then felt dumb when he realized that Miyoshi probably couldn’t see it. “There’s something I need to take care of, and what are you doing here? The play is starting.”

“ _It is_ starting and that is exactly why I’m here,” Miyoshi replied, “speaking of which, Hamlet is out only from scene two, in case you want to know.”

“Is that so.”

At some point between their hushed conversation, the director had welcomed the audience and the intro music had already been played. Before Sakuma could continue, the first curtain opened and the blue backstage lamp switched on. All of a sudden he could see Miyoshi’s face, down to every curve that was carved by dark shadows, rendering it impossible for Sakuma to ignore his ridiculously beautiful eyes. It was awkward, staring from such proximity, but he couldn’t help it, and the actor appeared to be oblivious to Sakuma’s thoughts as he tapped the box, pointing to the floor.

“Yes?”

Quickly Miyoshi brought his index finger onto his own lips, took over the box Sakuma was carrying—their hands brushed each other, and he fought back the reflex to snap away, half surprised, half flustered—then laid it carefully between their shoes. The man tugged on Sakuma’s sleeves slightly two times, his head giving a sign to the stage. He raised an eyebrow, not entirely sure whether Miyoshi wanted to be followed, but he stopped thinking instantly when the latter grabbed his lower arm and pulled him. Miyoshi walked lightly and soundlessly like he usually did, and Sakuma didn’t need to be an actor to know that he must behave the same, because a single footfall on backstage would echo through the whole hall.

Miyoshi halted near the folded curtains on one side of the stage, then he sat with his legs folded, giving a hint for Sakuma to follow. He complied, trying to ignore the way their knees bumped when the actor titled to reach his ear, “No matter what, don’t let yourself see the audience, since it means you can be seen by them too.”

He nodded, but still there was something that bothered him. “What are you doing, Miyoshi?”

Miyoshi gazed at him, eyes wide and twinkling, lovelier than any stars and lights that Sakuma had ever seen, not bothering to hide his excitement as he replied, “Showing Sakuma-san the best part of a stage play.”

He didn’t have to wait for long.

Applause rumbled, cheer echoed; the vibration reached the floor behind the stage where they were sitting, surging the audience’s enthusiasm into his ears and chest. Sakuma couldn’t see them, but the rousing greeting told him of the keen faces, expecting smiles, flushing impatience—of such a lively audience. A contradicting feeling permeated him, reducing him into a tiny bit and at the same time flaring his self-confidence; it was as if he could do anything, yet nervous because it would always be under the watch of a thousand pairs of eyes. Their expectations pumped his adrenalines, dropping him into a kind of feeling that was tantamount to euphoria, all the while making his palm sweated, almost trembling.

And Sakuma _wasn’t_ even the actor.

The cheer wasn’t even for him, but it submerged him with such intensity it made him fail to imagine how it would feel like if it _was_ for him, how it would feel if they were really shouting his name and bouncing when they saw him. Sakuma could never comprehend completely the feelings of actors when they got on stage, under the spotlight and followed for their every movement as if they were the center of the galaxy. There must be a kind of indefinable emotion—something greater and stronger—that was unintelligible unless he experienced it himself, but it made Sakuma think, that he might start to understand why actors became actors and why they loved what they did.

He turned to Miyoshi, hoping to see the same kind of flame blazing in his eyes, but what he found was the opposite. The actor had closed his eyelids, looking so calm as if he was sleeping, lips forming a thin smile. There was a tender feeling clambered him when he saw Miyoshi, that he almost reached out a hand to swipe a strand of bangs that fell onto his forehead. But he held his body from moving and his hand steady in place, choosing to savor every moment while he still could.

Just a second after he had thought about it, Miyoshi’s eyes snapped open. They stared at each other, and Sakuma had almost cleared his throat in awkwardness and averted his gaze, if only he didn’t remember that the tiniest sound from where they were now could be fatal. In the end he maintained eye contact, hoping that the blue light would help in hiding any color that might rose on his cheeks.

The actor slowly stood, then slid backwards to the inner backstage. Sakuma followed him until they returned to the spot where he left the cardboard box earlier.

“It’s time for me to get ready,” Miyoshi said, then without another word, he left for his position.

From the stage, Sakuma could hear the dialogue of the first scene.

.*.

The night after the show, for the second time in the last four weeks, Odagiri asked him to go to Maki Katsuhiko’s room. _Another lamp broke_ , he said, and Sakuma almost sneered at it as he heard, but then held back when he thought that there might really be a broken lamp this time. So he went to the storage room, took a type of lightbulb that was used on actors’ dressing table and brought it outside. This might be a good opportunity as well, Sakuma mulled; he indeed still had a lot to ask, especially regarding the event at the backstage earlier.

This time there was no hesitation when he stood before Maki Katsuhiko’s nameplate, Sakuma raised a hand and his knuckles knocked lightly on the door.

“Sakuma-san,” Miyoshi’s voiced answered him from inside, “please come in.”

He had no idea how the actor knew it was him—maybe because his arrival was expected?—but Sakuma ignored the question and opened the door with a polite excuse.

There were already three people inside; Miyoshi himself, Kaminaga and Shimano Ryousuke. He nodded to the two actors who lifted their heads to see him, before turning to the room’s owner who was leaning against the opened window frame, with his thin cigarette smoke trailed into the night sky. He didn’t say a thing, but their eyes met and it was enough for Sakuma as a greeting.

“I bring the replacement lightbulb,” Sakuma said, glancing at the dressing table which lamps were off before returning to the actor, who unexpectedly, stopped his smoking briefly before bursting out into a quiet laugh. He could feel that the other two actors were also smiling, and Shimano even deliberately hid his chuckle with a very unconvincing coughing.

He tried to pay no attention to it and instead searching for a plausible cause for their response. “Did I bring the wrong bulb?”

“No,” Miyoshi waved a hand, smile still wide on his face as he closed the windowpane and walked over to the table where two of his friends were sitting, “not at all. In fact, there isn’t any broken lamp.”

“Just like last time?”

Shimano’s eyes jumped between them, his expression smug. “ _Oh_?”

Sakuma didn’t miss the sharp glance the brown-haired man threw at his fellow actor, before dumping his cigarette butt into the ashtray on the table. Though when he turned to him once more, Miyoshi’s countenance had reverted back to normal. “The lights here never had actual problems, Sakuma-san.”

Somehow, that one sentence finally knocked him enough of an explanation. Sakuma felt retarded for not realizing it sooner, but now he saw that Miyoshi meant to use “a broken lamp” as an excuse to call him (or perhaps any other staff too, but Sakuma didn’t know for sure and he didn’t want to think about it). “Okay,” with a tone that showed he had understood, he kept his face straight as he said, “is there anything that I could help you with, Miyoshi?”

It was subtle, but Sakuma could see Kaminaga because the table he was sitting at was behind Miyoshi; the actor had glanced at him, eyes considering, before they were closed as he smoked his cigarette for one last time and turned it off on the ashtray. Shimano, on the other hand, had no intention to hide his stare, resting his elbow on the table and his chin on his palm, he looked at them with a bored face.

“There really wasn’t anything,” Miyoshi said, “we’re just going out to a bar in town, as the show was a success we want to celebrate a little—perhaps Sakuma-san would like to join?”

He blinked, once, twice. Sakuma stole a peek at Shimano, who stayed in his previous position but now with a smile turning up; there was visually nothing wrong with it, but it was as if he knew something that Sakuma didn’t, and it made him a little wary. Across the table, Kaminaga was fixing up his suit jacket, Sakuma had wanted to see his response to the possibility of he might tag along, but the actor didn’t show a trace of emotion. It tossed him into a difficult position; if he could, he actually didn’t want to turn down Miyoshi’s offer, but on the other side going out with a group of actors just didn’t sit well with him. Wasn’t a celebration for the play, no matter how little, was more fitted to be done with those who really went on stage? Sakuma might didn’t have the right to fit in.

He turned to Miyoshi, who was patiently waiting for his answer. “I’m sorry,” he finally said, already regretting even before he finished the sentence, “but I’m afraid I might need to pass this time.”

“Is that so?” Miyoshi raised an eyebrow, but didn’t inquire further. “Alright then. _Otsukaresamadeshita_.”

They bid polite farewell and parted in front of the room—the actors went to the direction of the front door, while Sakuma returned to the storage room. When the three of them walked together, Miyoshi looked like he was with the _right_ people; elegantly sauntering, merrily chattering and attracting attention. Sakuma imagined the kind of place they headed for, probably some kind of an upper-class bar in the center of the city, one that was laden with foreigners and Western music, snacking on something he never heard of and drinking cocktails which taste could never be found in regular _izakaya_ ’s sake.[2] Maybe it should’ve been that way from the start, actors ought to mingle with fellow actors, and Sakuma could return to focus on his job, adjusting spotlights and fixing broken lamps.

Separated by several footsteps, he heard Shimano said, with a voice that was a little too loud for the usual. “ _Sooo_ , Maki Katsuhiko had already became _Miyoshi_ for Sakuma-san, huh?”

Izawa Kazuo laughed. “Shut up if you don’t want to face His Highness’ wrath, Hatano,” he laughed again, “oh wait, maybe I should’ve called you Horatio?”

“ _Laertes_ ,” Shimano Ryousuke— _Hatano_ , Sakuma found yet another person who used a stage name—spoke calmly, “it wasn’t me who got killed by Hamlet, you know.”

“Oh shut up, both of you.” The actor who walked between Kaminaga and Hatano hissed, his voice was lower than the others, almost disappearing when they were about to turn at the end of the corridor. Sakuma halted, turning his head to his back. The three actors had gone, but then there was a greeting by a high voice, a woman’s.

He heard Maki Katsuhiko said, “Ah, Miss Ophelia?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [1] _Hamlet_ , Act V, Scene 2.
> 
> [2] Izakaya: a local establishment that is like something between a pub and a restaurant, a casual place for drinking and dining.


	5. Act V

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yet still, every time Miyoshi turned to him and their eyes met, the only thing he knew was the feeling of falling, falling, falling and a bit dazzled, perhaps, because the stars were just too bright, while all he knew before were those lamps with only artificial lights.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry for the long wait, but I'm glad I finally be able to update this fic. Hope you enjoy Act V!
> 
> Joker Game © Yanagi Koji and I do not gain any profit from writing this fanfiction.

Meeting Miyoshi that night wasn’t at all within Sakuma’s expectations, or at least he didn’t hope to see the actor inside the staff’s pantry, sitting at a small wooden table placed in the middle of the room, as a cigarette hanged from his lips and his head shaded by thin smoke.

Hamlet had already been on its fifth night of the show, but the seats in the hall still laden with people. The audience indeed loved the Hamlet played by Maki Katsuhiko—the role which in the beginning of his career had successfully boosted his popularity. The tickets for that one particular play was always the one that sold out the fastest and the flowers sent to the theater was always the most plentiful, the people who came too, were the most enthusiastic. Therefore Sakuma thought there was no way that the actor would hide himself in the back of the theater after the show ended, instead of going out to greet his fans.

“You should ask Fukumoto to try something like this,” he heard Miyoshi said when he entered the room, “so that he won’t bake the same cookies over and over again.”

There was a middle-sized box on the table, its lid opened, presenting a slice of cake and pastries. The logo was unseen, but Sakuma could recognize the design at the side of the box; it was the bakery he took Miyoshi to, when they grabbed breakfast two weeks before. Sitting on the chair across the actor, was Odagiri, chewing on a piece of bread with the chariness of a gourmet. “Tasty, it’s really tasty.”

“Isn’t it?”

Odagiri took a sip of water from his glass, then rose from his seat to bring it to the sink, his head turned to Sakuma in the process. “Hello, Sakuma.”

The fire at the tip of Miyoshi’s cigarette turned bright when he inhaled—“Good evening, Sakuma-san.” His name floated, along with the grey smoke he breathed out.

Sakuma greeted both of them back, not failing to meet Odagiri’s eyes after he mentioned Miyoshi’s real name (which he ignored, although somehow those orbs were showing a glint of curiosity), then proceed to take his coat and scarf.

Odagiri cleaned up the box, nodding to Miyoshi. “Thank you for the recommendation, I’ll be sure to stop by the shop next time.”

“No problem,” the actor replied, “oh and don’t forget, that’s not for yourself, Odagiri, give some to Kaminaga and Hatano too.”

“Let’s see if there’s any left for them.” The lighting division chief flashed a small smile, in his attempt to look offended. Sakuma was probably not the right person to say, but he appreciated how everyone put an effort into being loose when they weren’t in working hours, even the always serious Odagiri. “You’re going home now, Miyoshi?”

“I think so.” One last puff, and he dipped his cigarette into the ashtray. Sakuma was wrapping his scarf around his neck when Miyoshi stood, taking his coat with him. “Shall we go home together, Sakuma-san?”

.*.

They bid farewell in front of the pantry door, Odagiri headed back to the inner of the building, Miyoshi and Sakuma went to the back door. Just like on the night when the two first talked, a tiny crowd was already waiting. _Déjà vu_ —the word beaconed like a wrongly adjusted spotlight inside his head; what’s next, would they also eat in an okonomiyaki restaurant?

But they didn’t, after Sakuma once more acted as a bodyguard and the actor flashed his apologetic smile, they didn’t go to any restaurant. As an alternative Miyoshi offered to visit a bar that was owned by a friend, saying that he would treat Sakuma as a small celebration for the play’s success.

“There’s no need,” Sakuma told him, “the play is always a success after all.”

“But this is Hamlet,” Miyoshi smiled, “it’s _special_. Or is there a reason for you to hurry back home?”

In the end he gave up, because it’s too hard to say no to the actor, and finding a chance to be with him was Sakuma’s intention from the beginning. They walked to the closest station and took the metro to Shinjuku, getting off at one of the most crowded and resplendent areas of the city. The two cut through rows of shops and building constructions, blending in with the flow of people in between restaurants, electronic stores and lights that never fade out. Sakuma didn’t go to the area as often he’d go with a friend; when going out alone, he preferred smaller izakaya near where he lived, which owners were friendly elderlies he’d known for quite some time.

Miyoshi guided him through all of them, although Sakuma wasn’t sure where to, since to him every street seemed alike. He then followed as the actor entered one of the department store buildings; the elevator brought them to the highest floor, to a bar which at the entrance a sign was written, “Tokimaru”. With just one look, Sakuma knew it was an establishment of a different class with the ones he usually visited. When they did get inside, the assumption was proven right.

His eyes scanned the room, finding high ceilings concurrent with lacquered wooden floors, so sleek that he could see the reflection of the lights above the bar; colorful like evanescent watercolor paints. On one side of the rooms, the entire wall was built from glass panels, delivering the view of the night sky and the city below. On the left of the entrance the wall was overlaid with stained glasses, small pieces shaping a portrait of a cruise ship and the sea, in line with the theme of the bar. At the back of the room was a tiny stage, just enough for a grand piano on the middle; a man in a dark blue suit was playing, his finger danced on the keys; Sakuma then realized that every head in scope was turning to him.

“Seto Reiji,” Miyoshi told him, “exceptionally talented pianist, jazz-swing. It might be a surprise for Sakuma-san if you knew just _who_ , gets so infatuated with him,” he chuckled lightly, “would you like to head straight for the drink?”

Sakuma gave him an _oh_ and a nod. Same with food, he was, to be honest, not very familiar with Western music, as he only listened to songs when he went to the bar, and all that was played in his neighborhood izakaya was _enka_.[1] But again, it wasn’t a bad thing. Though he did feel a bit out of place when he seated himself beside Miyoshi, the piano play soothed him somehow. Perhaps because there seemed to be a certain message that the pianist tried to convey, just like he did with the smile leaping through the notes he graciously produced, or with the way his eyes closed as if to invite all of them to relish.

And he did enjoy being there, even without being asked. A bit extra mindful than the usual, indeed, but he found it hard to suppress his joy when he remembered that he was with Miyoshi— _again_ , and this time not just as a replacement or mere companion over dinner. The actor invited him along because he wanted to go _with_ Sakuma!

Still it was unsettling, out of all the people who would kill to accompany him, why must he chose Sakuma? Why didn’t he just go with the other actors, who would certainly be more appropriate to celebrate the success of the play in this posh bar—Kaminaga, for example? Or Hatano, maybe? Before he knew it, his mind was already running; why Miyoshi had brought him along? Did he have his own reasons, or was he just playing something that Sakuma couldn’t catch? The more he tried to guess, the more it got blurry, it might be presumptuous coming from him, _but_ _could it be_ ….

“Sakuma-san,” Miyoshi’s voice snapped him back to reality, “what a scary face you put on there.”

“Did I?” He forced a smile. “I guess I just got carried away by the atmosphere….” Whatever he was trying to say trailed off, devoured by music and people’s gabs. Miyoshi turned reticent, not lifting an eyebrow, not trying to complete his sentence, he was only waiting, patiently. Sakuma tried not to make it too visible, but he swallowed down. Perhaps when facing this man, his best option was being forthright—

“Sorry, did you say something?”

—which he failed to, because the thing that came out was just another evasion. For seconds that somewhat rolled away very slowly, the actor observed him. He never got used to the way Miyoshi stared, solemn and calculating, every time he did it, Sakuma felt like the actor successfully pried into him and found something that he himself might not be aware of.

“I didn’t,” Miyoshi said eventually, “but I did want to ask Sakuma-san’s opinion of the play.”

“Ah, the show?”

“Not the show we did, but of Hamlet itself.”

“About Hamlet, the play itself? As in the plot, characters and things like those?” He held back a laugh. “I’m not sure I’m the right person to give an opinion, I don’t know anything about stage play, after all.”

The actor was still expressionless when he asked, “Then why did you come to work in a theater?”

“That’s….”

“Ah, Miyoshi!” One call distracted them both, and secretly Sakuma was glad that an interruption arrived just at the right time. The voice came from a man clad in grey suit, who approached them in unhurried strides. When he reached Miyoshi’s side, Sakuma could clearly see his square jaw and his brown hair, parted in the middle. His lips made a friendly curve, forming a smile that reached his eyes. Sakuma was quite sure that he had seen the man somewhere before, but he couldn’t remember where.

“Hello, Amari,” Miyoshi greeted him with a smile, then glanced at Sakuma quickly, “I think I need to introduce you to someone.”

“Oh,” the man called Amari nodded politely, “good evening.”

He replied with the same phrase, while Miyoshi began, “This is Sakuma-san, he works in the same theater with me. Sakuma-san,” his hand gestured to the other man, “this is the friend I mentioned to you before, Amari, the bar owner.”

“Nice meeting you, Sakuma-san,” he bowed slightly, “you can just call me Amari, even though I’m known to most people by the name Utsumi Osamu.”

 _Utsumi Osamu_ —it was as if the name flicked a switch inside Sakuma’s head, now he remembered where he had seen Amari’s face. It must have been on TV, in films by famous directors that were often screened. He didn’t spend too much time in front of the TV, but sometimes when he did watch, he saw the actor on ads between programs too. Not all people could meet an actor who was the current talk of the whole country—he heard a gossip somewhere that Utsumi Osamu adopted a daughter or something—but Sakuma was no longer surprised that such people were within Miyoshi’s circle; actors ought to associate with actors too, after all.

“What do you recommend this time, Amari?” Miyoshi leaned to the counter, his head tilted in the direction of the bottles lined up on the shelves. It was a simple and natural gesture, yet somehow Sakuma found it very attractive.

“For those who like a challenge, of course I’d recommend Cerberus.” Amari’s smile widened as he moved to position himself behind the counter.

Following his friend, Miyoshi spun nimbly on his seat, and Sakuma swore the actor purposefully bumped their knees while he was doing so. He acted like didn’t realized, especially now that Miyoshi was staring at him. “Don’t mind Amari, his one and only pride is the cocktail he invented when he went on a cruise ship in the middle of Atlantic or somewhere.”

“Hey,” the bar owner protested.

From the way both of them then laughed, Sakuma could see that they’ve known each other for quite a long time, or at least close enough to see a side of Miyoshi he only showed behind the stage, with his friends, Kaminaga and Hatano, or in front of Sakuma himself.

“Can’t you recommend something that won’t burn?” Miyoshi asked. “I’m with a friend here, just looking for something nice and light.”

“I’ve never seen you got drunk on anything,” Amari raised an eyebrow, “though, if you want something light, then you got to try Frate.”

“Can I ask something,” said Sakuma, decided that he had to say it before he lost the courage to, “why every cocktail here seems like they’re being named after dogs?”

Both men instantly turned their head to him, and though he did feel a bit uncomfortable with their expressionless face, Sakuma was glad that they actually gave him attention. At least he knew that his presence was not being neglected, because there had been something that bothered him every time he saw Miyoshi was being familiar with other people, while Sakuma couldn’t partake in the conversation.

When both of the actors started to stifle laughter, all of his care went down for Miyoshi, who was chuckling until his shoulders were shaking, but still in a refined manner. Amari laughed too, untrammeled and short-lasting, but his eyes displayed how amused he was.

“You heard Sakuma-san, Amari,” Miyoshi’s eyes were still glinting with amusement, “make a drink that doesn’t take a name from your pet.”

“Then where else should I find inspiration?”

“I don’t know, from your neighbor’s child’s name, maybe?”

“Why should I bother to use my neighbor’s child’s—wait,” the bottom of Amari’s fist met the palm of his other hand, “oh my, Miyoshi, you’re a genius—I have to make a cocktail named Emma!”

“You’re welcome, just remind me to come to take my share of the royalty.”

The bar owner glanced at Sakuma, before returning to Miyoshi. “What about I treat you guys instead?”

Miyoshi rested his chin atop the back of his hand, acting like he was considering the possible options carefully. “Sakuma-san, what do you think, is it fair enough?”

Sakuma smiled a little, straightening his back. “That’s more than needed.”

Amari winked at them, then said, “Very well, gentlemen, shall I take you orders tonight?”

.*.

At one point in the middle of their conversation, Sakuma went to the toilet, and in a brief silence he stared at the dim interior before washing his face in the glass basin. _Not a dream, definitely_ _not a dream_ , his reflection on the mirror told.

When he returned to the lounge, Sakuma noticed that the piano play had stopped. He didn’t even have enough time to wonder where did the pianist go when he realized the chair on Miyoshi’s right side was occupied; and that was where the man clad in blue suit sat, talking with the actor.

“—I see that you came with a new friend tonight, Miyoshi?” He heard Seto Reiji asked as he approached.

“Am I hearing a disappointment, Tazaki?” The actor smiled, sweetly, as his finger trailed the rim of his glass. Sakuma didn’t want to be obvious, but more often than not his eyes failed not to follow Miyoshi’s every moment. “I’m with Sakuma-san tonight, _unfortunately_.”

“I’m not sure what it is between the two of you,” Seto Reiji—Tazaki—tapped the side of his own glass, “but from your tone, I assume this would be quite interesting…?”

Miyoshi didn’t answer, only bringing his cocktail to the lips and sipped. “Speaking of which, let me introduce you to Sakuma-san.”

They ran through the same procedure as they did with Amari just a couple of hours ago, then the conversation between the actor and the pianist resumed as Sakuma sat himself.

“I take it that even if I were to give you tickets to my show this weekend, you’d only use them to go with Sakuma-san?”

“True.” Miyoshi glanced slightly to the left, at Sakuma who was sitting beside him facing the bar counter, before returning his gaze to the front. “I can’t guarantee Kaminaga would come to watch you alone, though.”

“Then ask someone else to accompany him,” Tazaki took a sip of his scotch ** _,_** “Hatano?”

“You do aware that Hatano actually _prefers_ classical, don’t you?”

“I know,” he chuckled lightly, drinking from his glass once more _,_ this time to the last drop _,_ “then just tell him that I invited Jitsui too.”

“Oh, correct me if I’m wrong,” Miyoshi said, there was something carefree and playful in his tone, “but I thought messengers always get paid.”

“I’ll send you extra tickets so you can go on a date too.” Tazaki gave out a quiet, husky laugh, leaving some cash on the counter top. “Well, I have to go,” he nodded politely to Miyoshi, then to Sakuma, “enjoy the rest of your night.”

While the pianist went to the other side of the bar to greet Amari, Sakuma was still trying to collate the pieces of the night events. Odagiri and pastries in the pantry, Miyoshi who asked to go home together with him, the actor and bar owner Utsumi Osamu, the pianist Seto Reiji—too many things in such a short time span, that before his head could really able to process and conclude about what was actually happening, the actor had drawn him into something new again.

With his erratic flow, Miyoshi leapt and ran and gone; while with his mind in storm Sakuma bounced, stepping the ground, trying to reach. He was not sure how far the two of them exactly had become, or if they really had _anything_ that Sakuma dared to imagine. After all Sakuma didn’t want to hang his hopes too high, and he was still not clear if it’s a relationship that he himself wanted.

Yet still, every time Miyoshi turned to him and their eyes met, the only thing he knew was the feeling of _falling_ , _falling_ , _falling_ and a bit dazzled, perhaps, because the stars were just too bright, while all he knew before were those lamps with only artificial lights.

His fondness was not something he could deny, though everything about Miyoshi bemused him. Maybe, just maybe, there would be times when Sakuma had to become the main character and step in under the spotlight too, instead of just existing as a supporting nobody in the backstage.

“Well then, Sakuma-san,” said the actor, “shall we have another glass?”

Miyoshi didn’t wait for Sakuma’s answer as he signaled the bartender.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [1] A music genre, similar to Japanese traditional music.


	6. Act VI

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Don’t smoke too much, Sakuma-san, it’s not very good for your health.”

Perhaps it was for the amount they drank, or because he was simply in a good mood (Amari said that he had never seen Miyoshi drunk, didn’t he? So it was almost certain that alcohol wasn’t the cause), but somehow Miyoshi’s strides seemed to be freer when they walked out of the bar; _one, two, three—one two three;_ perhaps it was Sakuma who drank a little bit too much, since he started to imagine a rhythm that was probably never there.

The sky above them had turned dark thoroughly, but Tokyo at night was still brilliant. In the ever scintillating colors were bars and cafes signboards, dozens of cars’ headlights in the streets and street lamps along the sidewalks. Sakuma rotated his sight to all of those, trying to feel the light breeze on his opened skin, counting their footfalls—but Miyoshi walked without a sound, as quick and graceful as a cat—and really he just ran out of things he could use as a distraction. No matter how hard he tried not to stare, his gaze would eventually fall upon Miyoshi, who was a few steps in front of him so that Sakuma always saw the actor’s back; so close, yet still beyond his reach.

“I think I’m changing my opinion about you a little,” Miyoshi said suddenly, he slowed down a bit until Sakuma was right beside him, before turning his head and smiled, “I thought the always-uptight Sakuma-san has no sense of humor.”

“Me, uptight?”

“Forgive me if I’m mistaken,” the actor shrugged, “but every time I’m around you, you always look so tense.”

Right when the two arrived at a small intersection, the sign for pedestrians turned red. On their right side was yet a small street laden with restaurants, which was empty from any vehicle that might pass by, but Miyoshi halted, and Sakuma had no choice but to follow.

He had wanted to reply, “How can you stay calm around the person you’re having a crush on?” But Sakuma only huffed, in a faint hope that it would hide the awkward laugh he almost produced.

“Am I making you uncomfortable, Sakuma-san?”

“It’s not that you’re making uncomfortable,” he replied quickly, “I’m just… a bit confused.”

“And why is that?”

“Don’t get offended if I answer you honestly.”

One corner of Miyoshi’s lips stretched, making half of his cheeks puffed in somewhat an adorable way. “I can’t promise you that, but I won’t get angry. Please just say it.”

“Well, how should I put this then.”

He waited for the pedestrian light turning green, and only when they had resumed walking he continued speaking, “I just don’t understand why in the world an actor like you would be interested—even just to talk—to someone who’s only in the technical division.”

“I’m certain that I’ve told you before, that I know all staff who participated in the plays I’m in.”

“Yes, you did say that,” Sakuma brushed his fingers through his own hair, actually feeling a bit frustrated, “but why? That’s the part that I don’t get. I honestly thought that you were going to get angry with me over something when you first called me to your room.”

Miyoshi turned his head away, hiding his laugh. It didn’t take long for him to regain self-composure, but the witty look in his eyes still remained when he looked back. “Sakuma-san, if I ask you about Hamlet, what kind of character do you think he is?”

“What’s with the sudden topic change?”

“It’s not changing,” they turned at the corner of the street, then through a zebra cross, “but merely returning to the earlier discussion we had in the bar—which we haven’t finished yet, by the way. I’ve been meaning to ask you about this for some time, but haven’t had the chance to.”

When they passed under a stone arch, Sakuma realized they had just entered a public park gate. There, the lights were fewer and placed on lower points, making it difficult to see anything beyond Miyoshi’s shoulders. The face of the man himself was shaded, but Sakuma thought it made him look lovely in a strange way.

“I still don’t think that I’m the right person to give his opinion on this, but if you insist,” Sakuma said, “every time I see you playing Hamlet, I think he’s always changing—I don’t mean it in a bad way—ah, more like… there’s just always something new I could learn about his character, a side of him that I hadn’t realized before.” _Like you_ , he gazed to Miyoshi’s chestnut-colored orbs, which glowed captivatingly in the dim surroundings.

“Oh?” One of his eyebrows lifted. “Care to elaborate?”

“Hamlet never failed to surprise me.” _Again, just like you._ Sakuma trailed everything slowly, choosing his words thoughtfully. “He’s angry, vengeful and a bit insane— _genuinely insane_ , I think. But at the same time, he was a thinker and full of energy.”

The asphalt under his shoes turned grass, then to sand. Both of them arrived in a small children’s playground. There were swings and seesaws; their shadows formed elongated figures under the yellow lights of the park. Miyoshi took one of the swings, straightening his legs and put his hand inside his coat pockets, waiting for him. Sakuma sat on the swing next to him, pulling out a lighter and a package of cigarette, offering it to his companion. He took one, letting Sakuma light the cigarette for him, then brought it to his lips and inhaled in one, long breath.

Sakuma wasn’t really sure what he was talking about, but he knew Miyoshi wouldn’t leave the topic until he was satisfied, so he kept talking. “Hamlet… I think somehow he was also an observer? He realized all the problems and ironies his people were facing, and he criticized himself too.” He paused to enjoy his own cigarette.

“Compelling,” Miyoshi commented, “how about Ophelia?”

“Ophelia, huh? Beautiful.” _Like you too, though for me you’re even more beautiful._ “But was hard to judge.” _Exactly you—can we just stop this?_

“What do you mean, Sakuma-san?”

He shrugged a little. “Maybe it’s just because that I don’t really understand her character, but for me she’s really hard to grasp. Why in the end Ophelia chose to drown herself?”

“Because of the dilemma,” the actor said, “between obeying his father—who later died—or stayed loyal to Hamlet. Ophelia is a young woman with a heart that is far too pure, she couldn’t be on both sides at the same time.”

“And it turned her mad?”

“It turned her mad.” Miyoshi reiterated. There was just something absolute, dropping at the end of his sentence. It might as well be Sakuma’s imagination only, but he felt that the silence around them grew deeper. The sounds of the city carried by the night wind through the trees dwindled, while the cold, heavy feeling was rising at the bottom of his stomach.

“There’s still a lot that I don’t understand, actually,” Sakuma said, aware that he also need to try if he wanted the conversation to keep going, “the part why her madness drove her to commit suicide.”

Miyoshi didn’t give an answer immediately. Sakuma watched as the fire on his cigarette lit up, then turned dull when he puffed a chain of smoke. “Ophelia might see it as a choice. Not like most people, she was naive and childish, she couldn’t place each of her feet on both harsh reality and her idealism of the world.” Miyoshi paused briefly, and for whatever reason his lips formed a little smile. “She also couldn’t fix herself. So perhaps, for Ophelia, death was an alternative.”

“Is that so,” Sakuma murmured. It wasn’t that he completely hated the idea of killing one’s self, as long as it was done for something important and with dignity, like for the sake of the country or something along those lines. But in Opehlia’s case….

“Don’t you think it’s a bit silly?”

“Indeed,” Miyoshi let out a mild laugh, “suicide is the worst option, Sakuma-san.”

“Perhaps it is.”

The actor gave a push with his legs, swinging himself back and forth slowly like a pendulum. In the umpteenth swing when it went forwards, he jumped lightly off his seat. “But at least, Sakuma-san,” he stoop to put off his cigarette on the sand, then walked to the trash can. “Ophelia _still_ chose, outside of how silly or not the path she had taken.” His head turned, smile widening. “While Hamlet, he lack the assertiveness, and might even get dragged around by fate, sometimes.”

Sakuma finished off his cigarette and rose to throw it into the bin, before returning to where he sat earlier. “Now it sounds like Hamlet didn’t have many choices.”

“But it wasn’t like that in actuality, was it?” The actor closed his eyelids. “The problem was only whether it was the right choice or not, and he pondered about it a little bit too much.” When he opened them again and faced Sakuma, there was something indescribable in the way Miyoshi’s eyes met his. “But it was just play, and Hamlet was indeed a dramatic character. Thank you for sharing your opinion.”

“Not at all.” Sakuma hesitated a little, before finally bringing his hand to his pocket and reach for his cigarette. “Miyoshi, if thinking, no matter how much, still doesn’t guarantee you to take the right choice, then what do you do?”

“You _adapt_.” His answer was soft, but firm. “Like an actor who always adapts to his new role, his new character, his new ‘identity’.”

“I think I get it,” Sakuma said. He lit up another cigarette, holding it between his lips. “I guess there are just some things that you can’t dodge, huh.”

Miyoshi walked over to the swings, and stood on his left side, just at the perfect spot to hinder the lights; his shadow befell Sakuma. “But isn’t that how human lives work? No matter how smart or calculating, someday there will be just some things that you can never avoid.” When his face turned to Sakuma, Miyoshi’s figure was almost only a silhouette. “You or me, Sakuma-san, it can be tomorrow, it can be someday, suicide or not, will die. Like everybody else. And there’s nothing we can do to know that, much less to stop it.”

There was a profound silence—a span of time being scraped as the actor’s words finding their way slowly into the ground of Sakuma’s comprehension **.** It didn’t cause an uproar in his mind, but was more like drops of ink in a glass of water, permeating in a silent turmoil. When he finally realized where the conversation had gone, the only response he could give was just a small, awkward laugh. “Why suddenly the topic turned so gloomy?”

The other man followed suit, “I’m sorry, Sakuma-san, I had just finished reading the script for a new play and maybe I was a bit affected, since it got me a bit of thinking.” His voice lilted into a light tone that was almost too cheerful, and Sakuma never failed to get impressed at how effortless and easy it was for Miyoshi to change the atmosphere. “I didn’t mean to say anything weird.”

“Ah, you got a new role?” He changed the topic too. “What play?”

“It’s not a classic this time, actually, but a contemporary one,” Miyoshi said, “I think the theme is quite unusual as it is interesting for a play, so I decided to give it a go. It’s set during the war, about a spy who goes on a mission, collecting intelligence in a foreign country.”

“Oh?” It did sound interesting, especially since Sakuma wasn’t familiar with Shakespeare’ works from the start. Something modern might be easier to enjoy for common people like him. “How’s the story?”

“This is a tale of the spy’s life. The first act tells a bit about the past he had thrown away,” Miyoshi said, “the next acts narrates the time he spends in the spy training facility with other men, small missions, and even a little bit of superficial romance. In the last act, he’s sent to Germany.”

Sakuma nodded, already begin to imagine what kind of character Miyoshi would be playing. Puffing his cigarette, he asked, “And how about the ending?”

“When getting back after reporting to his superior, the train he’s on got derailed—just a stupid accident that nobody can anticipate—and he dies.”

“T-that’s it?”

“ _That’s it._ ”

Miyoshi bent over so now their faces were on the same level. Sakuma could see his eyes clearly, which were always more brown and more brilliant than anything. There was something akin to a magnetic pull in his gaze, that for heaven knows how many times, Sakuma found himself captivated, again and again and _again_. Even as a tiny alarm in his head rang— _don’t stare back_ , all the more if their surroundings were dark and there was nothing he could avert his sight to—because the longer he let Miyoshi stared into his eyes, the more he felt like secrets slipped out, the more he felt like the actor had already known about his feelings.

Then without a warning, Miyoshi’s fingertips brushed his lips.

He almost jerked away, but was too taken aback to actually move. Miyoshi took his forgotten cigarette, bringing it to his own lips, inhaling. In a split second Sakuma’s brain jammed, his common sense dripping out somewhere and his entire focus shifted between Miyoshi’s slightly parted lips and his eyes that never broke contact.

His breath hitched, moment freezing. The brittle sounds of leaves on the branches, the squeaks of the swing chains, the low hums of unseen insects; everything turned soundless. The soundlessness that warped them in an invisible layer, hindering anything that tried to get inside or escape, isolating; the kind of soundlessness that deafened, until the only thing he could hear other than the pounding of his heart was something ringing.

—Which soon he realized, wasn’t a ringing, but something rolling closer, and the shrill it brought along came from the sound of metal clashing metal. Modest at first, then gradually turning louder.

In his inability to move Sakuma only managed to ask the first thing that popped into his head, although he might regret ever saying such a dumb question for weeks after, “What’s that sound?”

As if suddenly got freed from the spell that halted time, Miyoshi straightened his back and turned his head to something that he Sakuma couldn’t see. “That’s the sound of the last train.”

Sakuma didn’t reply. Miyoshi turned to him, looking like he waited for a response; one that he never got. The man eventually gave a little shrug. “Perhaps it’s already the time for me to go home.”

Pinching the cigarette between his two fingers, he returned it Sakuma’s lips, giving him a light pat on the cheek. “Don’t smoke too much, Sakuma-san, it’s not very good for your health.” Miyoshi’s hand lingered a bit longer than it should’ve had, just enough to send a shock all the way through Sakuma’s body, but not long enough for him to raise his arm and cup the hand with his own.

“Then if you’ll excuse me, I’ll get going. Thank you for coming to the bar with me, it was a pleasant night.” Miyoshi flashed him one last smile. “See you, Sakuma-san.”

With just that, he turned around and walked away.


End file.
